Lost and Found
by Chibikat the Canuck
Summary: Not to mention the threat of You-Know-Who potentially coming back, Ron must deal with Bulgarians, Harry's crush on the only Chinese-British girl he knows, and tacky, horrible quotes about the eyes. (RH)


Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, who obviously has better things to do with her time than write piddling little stories about boy wizards. ...of course, that just happens to be her job. But I'm sure she still has better things to do.  
  
Rating: PG, if only for a light sprinkling of swearing, really. Oh, and fuzzy feelings.  
  
Author's Notes: People, please - listen to me when I tell you that Johnny Depp in "Benny & Joon" will do nothing to you but make you go "Awww!" and generally increase your sugar levels ten-fold. God I love Johnny Depp. But I also love writing Ron/Hermione fanfiction now, too, because of a person who shall remain nameless.  
  
Dedicated: To Silver Phoenix25. Who shall *still* remain nameless. Because she's somehow got me hooked on writing Ron/Hermione WAFF, instead of slash smut, like I originally intended. _-_ Alas.  
  
Anyway, hope you thoroughly enjoy this. And forgive me for the title. That's the least you can do.  
  
~*~  
  
Lost and Found  
  
~*~  
  
I can't rightly remember where I first heard it, but I know that it was a very long time ago. It's been written down and said so many times thereafter that I don't even know who first coined the phrase - though I bet he or she is dead by now. I suppose automatically tuning myself out from what or whoever repeated this saying doesn't help the matter, but you can hardly blame me; as a man, I'm naturally disinclined to enjoy and/or fawn over fluffy animals, the colour pink, make-up, shoes, and, of course, romantic sentiments.  
  
I have seen boys my age reduced to blithering mounds of poor, lovesick, "schmoopy"-ing shells of freaks by members of the so-dubbed "fairer sex", and it is for these sad saps that I mourn and despise the use of overly sweet sayings that do nothing but create noise pollution.  
  
Keep in mind I'm not a bitter person - far from it, really. I'm just a male, and despite what a lot of women want to think, you can't hold that against me. Don't kill me if I forget the damn toilet seat just *once*, because that's easy to do, especially when you've got as many brothers as I do. In my weakest moments, I feel rather sorry for Ginny.  
  
Anyway. While I generally hate any and all sappy, corny, and clichéd romantic sayings, I've found that, now more than ever, one phrase irks me like nothing has ever irked me before. Even when Malfoy became Prefect. Admittedly, that was to be predicted, but it no less softened the fact that he is a bastard with stupid, stupid hair.  
  
What phrase could be so bad? What linked sentence of previously okay words could stir such wrath, such annoyance, such utter maleness within me the likes of which that have never been seen before?  
  
"I could lose myself in her eyes."  
  
Please.  
  
Puh-freaking-*lease*.  
  
What is that? What the hell *is* that? I mean, honestly! I know for a fact that me and poetry don't get along at all, because mum inflicted it upon me once when she realized that she didn't want me turning out like FredGeorge. No use adding the "and" anymore. Kind of like in "Lord of The Flies". a piece of Muggle (and I use the term loosely) "literature" dad forced me to read once, fat lot of good that did. Of course, my family doesn't paint themselves and try to kill one another with sharp pointy sticks. Oh wait, yes they do - except we call those sticks "wands".  
  
My family aside, I just really hate it when regular people try to use really cheesy, demi-poetic lines on an unsuspecting second party, and on an even more unsuspecting third party; that, of course, being the innocent bystander. Because idiots can't ever make declarations of love and adoration in the privacy of their own bloody homes - oh no, no they can't. And, considering the fact that I attend a boarding school full of teenagers with mixed up everything (emotions, hormones - you name it, we're all figuratively screwed), these public announcements of devotion happen frequently.  
  
Especially in the Gryffindor house.  
  
See, as much as I really, *really* hate the Slytherin sycophants (ooh, big word. I'm definitely going to find a way to use that in an essay. Along with "ergo"...), I've gotta hand it to them - because they're such frigid bastards, they never get worked up over stupid things like crushes and love. I like bursting out randomly into song as much as the next guy (and, uh, maybe a little more), but at least I know where to draw the line. It's sickening to watch people I once respected whisper sweet nothings into one another's respective ears, and giggle like those idiotic American blondes that sound as if they're high on laughing gas. God I hate those stupid exchange students...  
  
However, Trina and Britney and Cindi and their horrible, horrible names can't even compare to the actions that automatically incite my gag reflex. I'd like to think I've grown a bit of a thick skin towards all the mushy...well, mush...that's been going around, especially as of late, but I guess I'm still sensitive to all the damned sensitivity. It's when it hits close to home that it's the worst.  
  
Take my good friend Harry, for example. Now, Harry's a great guy - excellent Quidditch seeker, has a sense of humour, saved the world from certain doom a few times; y'know, all the normal traits a best mate has. He's generally got a pretty good head on his shoulders, too, and while he's not ridiculously intelligent, he's usually sensible and all that.  
  
Usually.  
  
It started happening in third year. Growing up, puberty, whatever the hell you want to call it...well, it began. That was okay, though. Everything was pretty much the same.  
  
Then Cho Chang came along. Using her Chinese-British feminine wiles on the unwary boy, she somehow - somehow! - got Harry to pine after her. Harry pined more than a ruddy Christmas tree. Breakfast? Talk about Cho. Potions class? "I wonder what Cho's doing." Lunchtime? Too busy gazing at the Ravenclaw table to talk. And oh, God, dinner...  
  
"'Nihao' is Chinese for 'hello', isn't it? I think I read somewhere once that it is. You know, in a...in a book. And books are reliable, eh Hermione?"  
  
"You're rambling again; and Harry, I don't think Cho actually speaks Chinese."  
  
"But she'll still be impressed, right? Won't she? You'd be impressed, wouldn't you, Hermione?"  
  
"I wouldn't know."  
  
"I bet she'd be impressed. Wouldn't she be impressed, Ron?" When I didn't immediately respond, he poked me in the arm. "Ron? Are you even listening to me?"  
  
I didn't have the heart to tell him that if he didn't shut up, I was going to stab him with the butter knife.  
  
"Uh, yeah. She'd probably be impressed."  
  
Harry beamed at me, and I actually felt kind of guilty, which wouldn't do at all.  
  
And it went on, and on, and on. I'll admit, Cho Chang is a really good looking girl; y'know, in an exotic, she-reminds-me-of-dim-sum sort of way. I didn't really have much against her (until that wench broke Harry's heart in fifth year...), but it was getting ridiculous. We couldn't talk about Quidditch without the seeker of the Ravenclaw team somehow getting involved in the discussion. It was impossible to play a good ol' fashioned game of Wizard's Chess with him, because he'd be so distracted that winning wasn't getting to be fun anymore. Guy talk dissolved into Cho talk. It was anarchy.  
  
I, being the subtle beast that I am, tried to drop hints to Harry that maybe Cho wasn't interested in him at all. Maybe the looks she directed to the Hufflepuff table, to the dashingly handsome yet sociably approachable Cedric Diggory, were an indicator.  
  
But then Cedric died, which really wasn't a fun time for anybody, least of all Harry. But, like all things, Harry got over it, or just repressed it quite nicely, wherein he'll explode one day in a bout of depression and intense anger, so maybe that's not quite so good.  
  
The important thing was that now I had to convince Harry that Cho was bad news. That was impossible, considering the damn woman's impeccable record; and, everyone was feeling so bad for her as it was because of the incident with Cedric and the...well, the death.  
  
So I had to improvise, and be tactful.  
  
"I think she's taken vows so that she may be closer to her God. Harry...she's a nun."  
  
That worked for about two whole minutes. But then I thought...  
  
"Ron! Cho Chang is *not* a lesbian!"  
  
"I'm just making a suggestion! I mean, there's got to be a reason she hasn't really approached *you*, right Harry?"  
  
"Just because she hasn't approached me, it doesn't mean she's a lesbian!"  
  
"What? Are you saying there's something wrong with your manliness?"  
  
"I didn't say that at all!"  
  
"You're damn straight, because if those glasses of yours aren't the epitome of manliness, I don't know what is. Believe me mate, because I know women, and I know that Cho is either digging on Diggory, or just another teenager uncomfortable with her own sexuality. Remember how long it took Percy to come out?"  
  
"Percy's *gay*?"  
  
"Well, that's what we all assume."  
  
"What about Penelope?"  
  
I'd sigh, and shake my head.  
  
"Oh, young Harry. You're so naïve."  
  
And we would just leave it at that. Now that I look back on it, I suppose that didn't help his self-esteem over-much. But since it didn't cause any lasting damage to our friendship, I haven't really dwelled on it since.  
  
Truth be told, I don't know the first thing about women. It's sad, I know, but my only real contact with the feminine side of this species is with Hermione, but...in all fairness, she's Hermione. All I really know about girls is that something happens once a month that makes them all very, very cranky, but I don't think I want to get into the details of that. Unpleasant business, cramps and "sanitary napkins" and the like.  
  
Actually, I think I realized Hermione was, indeed, a *girl*, sometime during fourth year. She and Harry are my best friends, and I've spent my entire life roughhousing with the boys in my family - so, of course, it's been way easier to treat Hermione like a guy, rather than like a girl. Admittedly, I don't think I'm as rough with her as I am with the guys, but I'm not really a very rough person to begin with, not even in Quidditch. That's why I'm keeper.  
  
So, fourth year came along, and it felt nothing like all the years previous. The Triwizard Tournament didn't help matters much - as cool as it was to have all the different students who weren't American come to the school for the year, it was equally uncool that there was this really heavy, oppressive feeling that seemed to hover about Hogwarts, and it hasn't left since. Things are getting bad, as far as the whole War To Possibly End All Wars is slowly coming to a head. Even now, people just refer to it as "The Big One", despite the fact it hasn't even happened yet. People are crazy.  
  
Crazy like Viktor Krum.  
  
Now, I don't mean crazy in the loony, the-voices-inside-my-head-tell-me-to- burn-things sort of way. That's where Luna Lovegood comes into play, but I'm not talking about her right now. Viktor Krum is more or less crazy in the rich, sportsman-like, behold-my-skills-and-my-large-but-somehow- attractive-nose kind of way.  
  
The Tale Of Viktor Krum is a classic one: boy finds broom, boy flies on broom, boy learns Quidditch, boy becomes freaking fantastic at Quidditch, boy is skyrocketed to fame and fortune and glory, boy comes to school in Northern Britain from the inauspicious (another big word!) country of Bulgaria (because all good athletes never reside in the West), boy tries to be sweet on Hermione.  
  
Maybe not *that* classic, but, y'know. Close enough.  
  
The point is that Viktor, in all his older and toned glory, tried to get romantic with Hermione Granger. *My* Hermione Granger. How could I stand idly by and watch this take place? I'm a man, and I know that men like Viktor only want one thing, and I wasn't about to let young, impressionable, innocent Hermione be subjected to *that*.  
  
I'll admit that I actually had a lot of hero worship for Viktor Krum. I was part of the Viktor Krum Mailing List. I had cheap little plastic figurines of him that I got at McDougal's with my Cheery Meal (the food was awful, but it was worth it). Whenever my brothers and I played Quidditch, I always called Viktor's number and position.  
  
That, of course, all changed when I found out he wanted to go steady with Hermione - hell, when I *suspected* he wanted to go steady with Hermione. She was only fourteen! And while I'm not undermining Hermione's intelligence, because she is really one of the smartest people I've ever met in my entire young life, I know that girls are crazy at that age. They don't know what they're doing romantically. Hell, I don't know what I'm doing at *all*, and now I'm seventeen. A sweet word here, a bouquet of roses there, and boom - guys like Viktor think they can get into a girl's (read: Hermione's) knickers.  
  
Well, *mate*, that wasn't happening.  
  
I didn't expect Hermione to really understand what I was doing for her. ...actually, at the time, I didn't quite understand it myself. Something in the back of my mind told me that something was very wrong, and it was setting off all the alarms and klaxons in my head, making them go *whoop, whoop*, "Danger, Ron Weasley, danger!". I first tried to tell myself that I was sure Viktor was a great guy, and that he was just harmlessly curious about Hermione's intellect and rapier wit. I once called it a rapist wit by accident. God I'm an idiot.  
  
Then I started to notice a few things; like, Viktor would completely ignore the wanton stares of all the girls in the library, and head straight to Hermione. ...I swear, she'd just...she'd glow when she saw him, y'know? He'd see her, and she'd see him, and she'd get this smile on her face, like everything was okay. I thought they were just being friendly, or...or something.  
  
But that's when I realized that I couldn't remember her ever smiling at me like that. Ever.  
  
In my fashion. by the time I finally caught on to these seedy shenanigans, it was nearly too late. I really hate not being observant, like Harry and Hermione both are. I need to work on that, when I've got the time. Or the willpower. And it will probably never happen.  
  
I found myself being really quite mean to Hermione a lot of the time - to be honest, I really don't think I knew any better. I knew that I was angry and frustrated, and I knew that Hermione was involved somehow, but I didn't know *why*, and that kind of scared me. When I get that upset, I almost always have a reason why, at the very least; so it was really unsettling to be feeling so strongly about something, and I didn't even have a proper explanation as to the cause.  
  
It wasn't like any feeling I'd gotten before, either. It made my stomach sort of clench sometimes, and my face would flush too; then, I'd feel a bit lightheaded, and when I thought about Krum and Hermione together, this indescribable rage just took me right over - wasn't a loud rage, that, but rather quiet, really sort of personal. It was one of the worst feelings I'd ever had. It was even worse than the time those mean kids at primary school I went to pushed me over, took my ice cream, and said I smelled. At five years old, "You smell!" was really the worst insult known to child- kind; so, compound the fact that they took my ice cream, and I come from a family where ice cream is a rare treat, that was a frigging terrible feeling. It may seem like there'd be no correlation whatsoever between Hermione going out with Krum (more or less), and me getting told that I smelled funny by a bunch of eight year olds when I was five, but the same basic emotions were there. It was that sense of loss and belittlement, of feeling...inadequate. Kind of like I didn't matter, in the end.  
  
I know Hermione didn't do it on purpose; in fact, I'm pretty sure she didn't know that she was doing it at all. I really only figured it out about two weeks ago. After starting to overcome that terrible, terrible obstacle known as puberty, I was feeling a lot of things quite differently. I started to realize that every time Hermione brushed up against me, I'd feel my face go hot, and I'd suddenly be very uncomfortable around her alone. Our conversation would just start to die off, and there'd be this really awkward silence, and I'd be sitting there, thinking, "Oh God, what should I say now?", and then I'd try to think of something to say, but nothing would be coming to me, and then I'd just get all fidgety and say something really, really offhanded that had no bearing on the previous topic of conversation whatsoever. Finally, at the start of the new school year, I figured out why.  
  
I fancy Hermione, as it turns out. It took me nearly seven years to reach this conclusion, too. As I said, I'm an idiot.  
  
With most all important things, there was a certain, defining moment during which I finally realized why I blushed whenever Hermione gave me a compliment, no matter how small or unimportant said compliment may have been. We'd all just gotten off the Hogwarts Express, ready to begin our final year at Hogwarts, unsure of what the future would hold (except for a relatively complicated mystery that would have to do with Voldemort and allow us all to learn the true meaning of Boxing Day, or something like that), and everything was peachy bloody keen.  
  
No, really, it honestly was. I wasn't being sarcastic. It was a nice day, Malfoy and the Idiot Twins (CrabbeGoyle, not FredGeorge) hadn't bothered us at all, Harry wasn't being moody teenager, and things just seemed a-okay. No sense of impending doom, no sense of impending N.E.W.T.S. They were essentially the same thing as impending doom, really.  
  
"You know, this is the year we write our N.E.W.T.S.," Hermione said, piping up from her place beside me as we rode the carriages to Hogwarts.  
  
"You always know how to set my mind at ease," I retorted sarcastically. Harry smirked.  
  
"We've been through the O.W.L.s, though. At least we'll basically know what to expect," he said.  
  
"Exactly. You see, Ron? Why can't you be more like Harry?" she teased me. I think she was joking.  
  
"I'll go out and buy me some glasses, then," I said in turn. I tried to make myself look all detached and slightly angsty and whatnot, but I think I just came off as being a goof, as usual, because Hermione just laughed.  
  
That's how things went, and to be truthful, I kind of liked it. I liked making Hermione laugh than ever before, because it gave me this really nice, kind of fuzzy feeling, right in the pit of my stomach. The first time it happened, I thought I might've been hungry, but as it turns out, I wasn't. Strange things were afoot at the castle Hogwarts.  
  
Despite all that, there was still this little bit of empty space inside of me (no, not in my head). I was still Keeper on the Quidditch team, and doing a hell of a job of it too - in fact, I had a lot of people telling me that I was the best Keeper since Oliver Wood. Me! Oliver Wood! Same sentence and not derogatory! To most people, that sort of news would make them happier than a drug addict upon finding an abandoned stash of half- used needles. It *should* have made me happier than a drug addict upon finding an abandoned stash of half-used needles.  
  
But it didn't. It was nice, but it didn't really mean anything, and I couldn't figure out for the life of me why. Hell, when I looked in the Mirror of Erised all those years ago, I saw me, holding the Quidditch Cup. I had very low standards as a first year, I guess. This mirror was supposed to show our innermost desires, and my biggest dream was to hold a rather ugly-looking cup.  
  
Harry, in a stunning moment of utter clarity, had said, "You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, big deal - I want to see my parents!"  
  
Harry's biggest wish was to have a family; it was a respectable wish, to be sure. Kind of sad, in a charming way, but certainly better than wanting to win a stupid school award, like me. God, what was I *thinking*? The Quidditch Cup, honestly...I should've just beat *myself* up.  
  
I can't help but wonder what I'd see if I looked in that mirror again? Erised...Hermione said it was "desire" spelled backwards. At least it wasn't an anagram. "I AM LORD VOLDEMORT", what is *that*? Whose middle name is *Marvolo*? No wonder he's so messed up. If I were named Marvolo, I'd want to lash out at the world, too.  
  
Mindless tangent, thy name is Ron.  
  
Getting back on track, it seemed that everything that used to make me so very, very happy simply wasn't doing the trick anymore. Quidditch lost some of its appeal to me, Wizard's Chess just seemed boring, and Exploding Snap became tedious after a while. I felt restless; at least, when I was with Hermione, I was so distracted by the awkwardness, I didn't even realize I was bored. Rather, I wasn't bored at all. It was all quite strange.  
  
Two fateful weeks ago, I found myself strolling through the castle all by myself, just as nice as you please; classes had finished for the day, and Harry had said that he needed to take care of some stuff with Dumbledore. Planning something big, no doubt. Always with the big plans that never really work exactly the way they're supposed to. Before he left, though, Hermione said that we should all meet in the library a half hour from then, so that we could all get started on a particularly tough Transfiguration essay. I probably needed the most help - I had done this one spell to turn a piece of furniture into an animal, and all I got was a very dodgy- looking, slightly carnivorous footstool. It was like a cross between a Venus flytrap, and a...God only knows.  
  
Being the guy that I am, I didn't have all the supplies I needed right there on my person. So, with half an hour to spare, I leisurely made my way up to the Gryffindor tower, got to the Boy's Dormitories without a fuss, and put the texts I needed in my schoolbag, along with a pot that actually had ink in it. Dean was talking to a very interested Seamus about his newest crush, and I rolled my eyes in disgust. Dean had, per capita, more crushes in a week than cans in a recycling compactor had in a year.  
  
Get it, crushes? Because cans are crushed, and...forget it. Most wizards don't even drink or eat pudding out of cans, except my dad, because he's a Weasley, and that's what we do.  
  
It just really bugged me, these guys that could go effortlessly from girl to girl, and not even think about it. What were they trying to prove? They were just acting like idiots, and spreading diseases, or something. Bloody manwhores. *Those* are the guys that use really stupid lines like "I could lose myself in her eyes". Trying to get all mushy so they can get laid...though, in all fairness, Dean never went that far. He just has a very, very short attention span. And to my knowledge, he's never spouted anything that would slightly resemble poetry to anyone. Thank God.  
  
So, off I went, my school things in tow. I took the long way to the library, hoping that I might bump into Harry along the way, which I didn't. I said a friendly hello to some of the acquaintances I'd made over the years; y'know the way it goes, a "hi!" and a "bye!", and that's about it.  
  
Numerous winding corridors later, I found myself at the doors to the library. I was a bit early, but in all fairness, I hadn't much to do anyway, so I quietly entered, taking in all the familiar shelves and tables. It smelled as musty as ever, which never did much for my sinuses or whatever; but it wasn't a big deal, really. I've learned to cope with worse.  
  
I can't say that I was surprised that I found Hermione, sitting alone at one of the tables, early as ever. She'd already cracked open one of her textbooks, and was busy finishing the questions we'd been assigned during Charms class, her quill scratching over the parchment in front of her.  
  
A funny feeling came over me. *The* funny feeling, I should say. I suddenly didn't want to interrupt her - I mean, I know that I was supposed to go over and meet her and all, but...  
  
There she sat, all by herself. Her face was set in concentration, and every now and then, I'd watch as she'd tuck an errant strand of hair behind her hair. I don't know why I found that as fascinating as I did, but it was, and who was I to argue? She turned the page, and nibbled at the end of her quill in thought.  
  
She looked really pretty when she was in thought.  
  
I continued to watch her scan the page, fishing out the answers to whatever question Professor Flitwick had assigned; the way her hair would stubbornly fall in her face, and how she'd equally as stubbornly tuck it back again behind her ear. The way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and the way the barest hint of a smile registered on her face when she figured out the answer to a problem, and the way she smoothly wrote down the answers.  
  
Hermione tossed her hair back, and that did *something* to my legs, because I had to lean against the shelving so that I wouldn't stumble and make an arse of myself, and ruin the moment. Which, as it so happens, I'm very good at, because my hands had found purchase on a couple heavy tomes that weren't balanced all that well on the bookshelf. They fell.  
  
And they took the entire row with them.  
  
In fact, the books nearly took *me* with them, but through some miraculous intervention, I remained a bit infirmly on my own two feet, having wave my arms in circles a couple times just to stay upright. The books were extremely loud as they fell, and I felt like such a complete and utter git for being the idiot I am. I was wallowing in embarrassment that was almost as heavy as the books I just managed to make fly directly onto the floor and on top of one another.  
  
I chanced a look up at Hermione. She stared at the mess that was the books, then stared at the mess that was me. I awaited a lecture, a stern reprimand, a...a *something*.  
  
Her lips twitched, and she began to laugh.  
  
It was really quiet at first (because we were in a library, and Hermione is Hermione), and she obviously tried to hide it behind her quill, but it really wasn't working. Her smile only got wider, and she almost glowed as her laughing increased.  
  
You know what? The laughter was pretty damn infectious. I mean, there I was, standing in a pile of books, like "That's So Socrates!", "So You've Ruined Your Life: A Guide to Time-Altering Mechanisms", and "Herbs and You". I couldn't help the smile that broke out on my face (which was a nice change from a few spots and freckles), and pretty soon, I was laughing with Hermione, at myself.  
  
That's when I noticed...oh God, I was looking right into her eyes. I knew that her eyes were brown already, but I didn't know that they lit up like they did when she laughed. They were dark, but full of mirth, and a burning intellect that simply...that simply was...  
  
My laughter faded, along with my smile, as I had an epiphany. I finally realized what the missing piece was, and why I hated the phrase "I could lose myself in her eyes".  
  
I was far from being lost in her eyes. They were deep, and they were rather nice to look at, these things are true - but I would never say I got lost in them. That would be a disservice to both Hermione and I.  
  
No. I *found* myself in her eyes.  
  
I figured out the root of my anger, my frustration, my embarrassment, my awkwardness, and the wonderful, tingling feeling that had spread from the pit of my stomach, and was slowly taking over my entire body. I realized that what I'd been searching for was what all the other guys were searching for, but I was too stupid to acknowledge it. I finally managed to come to terms with the fact that I had feelings for someone other than myself, and that I was slowly growing out of being a selfish child, into...into *me*. Into someone who cared very much for his friends. For one friend, in particular.  
  
All that, all in her eyes.  
  
"Something wrong, Ron?" she asked me, her own laughter slowly dying down.  
  
I blinked once, then shook my head.  
  
"No. Nothing's wrong." I smiled. "Everything's great."  
  
Y'know, it actually, really was. And now, when some foolhardy Gryffindor or Hufflepuff decides to make a public showing of their love and adoration for the other that they wish to make significant, I don't find myself as annoyed with it. I know that those other boys will never have what I have, because while they're out losing themselves in those girls' eyes...  
  
...well, I'm here, happy in the place where I know I belong. Even if she doesn't know it yet.  
  
~*~  
  
Holy crap that was sappy. Even for me. Damn you "Benny & Joon", what have you done to me?!  
  
...ohh, I can't stay mad at Johnny Depp. ^_^  
  
Yeah. Um, I would really like it if you review, because they're like little shots of Valium on a rainy day. =D  
  
...or not. You decide.  
  
Yours in shameless, shameless fuzziness:  
  
~Chibikat 


End file.
